


Losing My Mind

by felix_is_a_gay_newsie



Series: Losing My Mind Universe [1]
Category: Blood Drips on Newsies Square (1991), Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: :(, Ableism, Abuse, Albert is gay, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Blood, Burns, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Panic Attacks, Racism, Snyder is evil, Swearing, The Refuge, Violence, albert has pretty low self-esteem, all slurs are starred out, everyone sorta knows about ralbert, im sorry race, jack breaks the fourth wall, jojo has depression, lots of angst to get there though, lots of tws here, race and jack are brothers (not literally but yknow theyre so close theyre practically brothers), race has a breakdown, race is trying his best, ships are not the focus, snyder knows, so does Jack, so you can imagine what that would be like in 1899..., specs and albert and crutchie are bros, that au where jack refuses pulitzer's deal, theres gonna be a happy ending i promise, which is bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-09-12 17:59:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16877613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felix_is_a_gay_newsie/pseuds/felix_is_a_gay_newsie
Summary: "I ain't betrayin' my brothers." I say stubbornly, trying to keep my tone level. "The strike ain't goin' down, ya can't put cuffs on freedom.""Fine." Pulitzer says tightly. "Mr. Snyder, if you please."Heavy metal cuffs locked tightly around my wrists, forcing my arms behind my back.Glares, insults, and shoves.The carriage ride to the Refuge seems like it takes centuries, but in reality it was really only about 20 minutes.





	1. Race

**Author's Note:**

> chapter name's are the character's pov for that chapter

This is bad.

That’s the first thing I think when I open my eyes. I recognize the Refuge immediately, the cramped bunks and barred window. The wooden door at the front of the room.

I can’t lose my shit though, no matter how much I want to.

I have to stay calm.

I can’t curl up in a ball and cry my eyes out, wanting to escape.

I have to just suck it up and stay calm.

Figure out a plan.

So I guess first I should assess my injuries.

My lip is split, and there is blood dripping from it down my chin and splattering onto my shirt. There’s a cut running down my upper arm. My head hurts. Why is that? I lift my hand, and I can feel partially dried blood on the back of my head, sticky and warm. My hand is stained red when I pull it away. That would explain my headache I guess.

Okay, injuries assessed.

Mental health time.

I reach into my pocket and find I still have a cigar on me. I put it in my mouth, knowing I’ll need the small bit of stress relief it brings.

Coping mechanism acquired.

Next, I look around the room to see if I know anyone else. I do, in fact. I know everyone else. The warm body next to me is Albert, across the room is JoJo and Elmer, right next to my bunk is one holding Davey and Les, each bed is full of my brothers. This isn’t good. I take count of who’s here, figuring I should since I’m the only one awake, and all 24 of us are here. Well, not exactly all 24. Because I count 24, but Jack and Crutchie are nowhere to be found. I count again, but it’s the same. Who are the other two people? Spot and Smalls. They were at the rally too.   


“Ro?” Specs’ fatigued voice mumbles. He’s sitting up, rubbing the frames of his glasses.   


“Mornin’ Specs.” I say dimly.   


“Where-oh shit.”   


“Yeah.”   


“Everyone here?”   


“If you replace Jack an’ Crutchie with Spot an’ Smalls, yeah.”   


“You alright?”   


“Perfectly fine.” I try not to let him hear the strain in my voice.

I am fine.

I have to be fine.

If I’m not fine, if Specs isn’t fine, everything falls apart.   


“Where are we?” Davey’s awake now. I guess it won’t be too long until everyone is up.   


“Welcome to the Refuge, pal.” I say.   


“The fuck?!?”   


“Nice ta see you too, Al.”   


More and more people start waking up, all taking the news in their own ways, and I try my hardest to be positive. Jack’s not here, so I have to be the leader. I have to be the one to stay calm and keep everything under control. I have to be the one to address the fact that there are heavy footsteps outside the door, and that it’s no doubt Snyder the Spider. I have to be the one to stand at the front of the room, waiting for the door to open.

And so the door opens, and I take a deep breath, preparing myself for whatever might come next.

Snyder the Spider steps through the door, just as I expected.   


“Evenin’, Spider!” My natural charisma takes over, shoving my fear away, and I plaster a shit-eating grin on my face.   


“You’re in charge, I suppose.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.   


“Temporarily, yeah.”   


“I guess you’re right. You can’t be in charge if you’re dead.” It’s such a casual threat that I almost don’t catch it.

Almost.   


“I meant until Jack is able to take charge.” I say through gritted teeth.   


“I’m afraid that won’t be happening anytime soon.”   


“An’ why is that?”   


“Pulitzer gave him a deal. He’s probably halfway to Santa Fe by now.”   


“You’re lying.”   


“You’re delusional.”   


“Why’d ya even come here then?”   


“I have a gift, if you’re willing to pay the price for it.”   


“Ain’t gifts usually free?”   


“Not this one.”   


Crutchie isn’t even conscious when the guard drags him in.   


“Willing to listen now?” Snyder asks, and now he’s the one grinning.   


“What do you want.”

I can’t lose my shit now.

I can’t focus on how pale Crutchie looks or how much blood he is covered in.

I just have to make sure that he’s okay and that everyone else is okay.

My wellbeing comes second.   


“One of you to take his place.”   


“Fine. Take me.” I say immediately, before anyone else can even think about volunteering themselves.   


“Race!”   


“Shut up, Al.”   


“Racer, I swear-“   


“Spot! Shut up!”   


“Quite the leader.” Snyder smirks, exiting the room again. I have no choice but to follow.   


We reach the basement after an excruciatingly long journey through the Refuge, passing bunk rooms and occasionally hearing cries or whimpers from inside.

I realize this is the first time I’ve walked down the basement stairs. Every other time I’ve been thrown, dragged, or shoved.   


“On your knees, boy.” Snyder commands roughly.   


“Or what?”   


“Or I can easily replace you.”   


I glare at him and kneel down on the floor.

I feel disgusting inside.   


“Take off your shirt.”   


I know what’s coming, or I can guess at least, and a tight knot forms in my throat as I pull off my vest and overshirt. I hear the striking of a match as I pull off my undershirt. Snyder plucks my cigar out of my mouth and touches the end of it to the match tip. It glows red and hot. Snyder drops the match on the ground, stomping it out with his boot. And then, without so much a warning, he begins. The scent of burning flesh slowly starts to fill the basement as more and more burns are pressed into my bare skin. I scream in pain when I feel white hot fire press down on freshly scarred over cuts, not being able to hold myself together any longer. I know this is what he wants, and I know that everyone upstairs can hear me, but I’ve grown unaccustomed to burns, especially ones placed in a new location. I can take a beating, I could take a thousand beatings, but there’s always a special kind of torture that Snyder delights in. A kind of torture that doesn’t just destroy you physically. A kind of torture where he gets in our mind, invades your thoughts, and clouds your thinking. A kind of torture where in between the screams, he whispers. He whispers threats and promises, slurs and insults, each one of them making me slightly more unhinged.

And my screams never seem to end.

No matter how much I hate myself for begging, for screaming for mercy, I keep on going.

Because each time the cigar is pressed into my skin is a reminder of all of my failures.

Not only am I back in this hell, so is everyone I care about.

I can handle physical pain, but the emotional toll is just too much.


	2. Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's our first look at jack!

He’s gotten smarter, it seems.

Instead of keeping me in the basement, Snyder has opted to lock me in a recessed closet that is so tucked away from the rest of the Refuge that you have to go through a special door in the back of Snyder’s office just to get inside.

The closet is by no means spacious, it’s so small in fact that it feels like the walls are closing in on me. There would be barely enough room for me to stand up if I could.

But oh, have I not mentioned anything about the past day? It seems I haven’t.

Well, let me enlighten you. After refusing Pulitzer’s deal and being dragged to the Refuge, Snyder put me in my closet.

After a few hours of me yelling through the door, Snyder figured threatening me would be a great way to get me to shut up.

So he made me watch while he beat up on Crutchie for a while.

And then right before breaking my leg, he said something I will not repeat.

It’s not something I want to say, and not something you want to hear.

Anyways, back to my closet.

As mentioned, my leg is now broken, so all I can really do is sit slumped against the wall and wait, trying to swallow the tight knot in my throat.

I wonder what Snyder has planned for me.

He must have something planned, or else he’d just kill me now.

And the problem is he could really do anything.

It’s not like I have a family to press charges or to come bail me out.

I’m afraid this is something I have to bear alone.

I flinch a bit when I hear footsteps from outside the door, followed by the jangling of keys and the click of a lock.

The door to my closet swings open, revealing a guard with a smug grin.

He pulls me off the ground by my shirt collar, and silently drags me out of Snyder’s office and down the hallway.

I can hear muffled cries growing louder as we draw closer to the basement door.

I am shoved down the splintering wood stairs quite unceremoniously, and I take in the scene before me as my eyes adjust to the dim light.

Snyder is looming over Race, who is kneeling on the floor, shirtless and covered in blood.

His vest and shirts lie in a heap nearby him.

His eyes are welled up with tears, and although normally bright and happy, they are now full of fear, screaming unvoiced pleas.

“Don’t do this.” I whisper, my voice cracking painfully.

“Jack?” Race says, lifting his head ever so slightly.

His eyes look so lost.

This is my fault.

The realization comes suddenly, as if I just slammed into a brick wall.

It’s my fault that Race is here.

That Crutchie is here.

And if Race is here who knows who else might be here.

“Leave him alone. He don’t deserve this. It’s me that ya want.” I say, trying to push myself up.

My leg seems to have other plans.

I manage to lean in a half-sitting position against the wall.

It’s awkward and painful.

“It’s okay, Jack.”

Race is an idiot.

A brave and selfless idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.

I’m pretty sure that’s my fault too.

“Let ‘im go!” I say again.

“Oh, I think I’d like to have a bit more fun with him first.” Snyder drawls.

It’s now that I realize he’s holding a cigar in his hand, the end glowing a dim orange.

There’s a pile of already used cigars on the floor.

“Please, don’t!” Snyder ignores me, smirking and pressing the cigar directly onto Race’s neck.

I can see him wince in pain, but he doesn’t scream.

The idiot.

He knows full well that screaming makes him done with you sooner, but he’s trying to stay calm for me.

Because he knows I’ll break down if he does.

“No scream this time?” Snyder purrs into his ear. “Not even for your pal Jack? You were yelling so nicely for me before.”

“Stop.” Race gasps. “I won’t… I’m not…”

He can barely form a coherent sentence.

He’s trying so hard, just like he always does, but he’s going to find out fast how weak his idol really is.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” Snyder’s voice is laced with poison. It makes me sick. “Unless you think I would get more of a reaction from your boyfriend?”

“Don’t-you can’t-I-” Race is stuttering horribly, and his face is pale.

Snyder presses the cigar onto Race’s skin again, and the scream that escapes his lips is heart-wrenching.

“Racer-” I start to say, but he only shakes his head, his tears sparkling like diamonds.

When Snyder seems to finally become bored with Race, he leaves him half conscious on the ground.

“See you in the morning, Kelly.” Snyder smirks at me.

And then he pushes me down so I’m flat on the floor and stomps down on my right shoulder.

Hard.

I can hear a pop and a crack, and all of my old memories that went with the injury that never quite healed from years before come rushing back to me.

I shut my eyes tight and produce one shout, a cry full of loss and fear.

“Pathetic.” Snyder sneers, kicking at me and going back up the stairs.

There’s the familiar slam of the basement door, and then a long period of silence.

“I’m so sorry, Jack.” Race’s small voice says. “I tried, I really did, but-”

“Don’t apologize, Racer. None of this is your fault.” I say forcefully.

“He told us ya left! That ya went ta Santa Fe! I couldn’t-”

“It’s okay, Race. You’se really brave. Ya took all of that so none of your brothers had to. Don’t apologize for that.”

“What’s he gonna do ta us?” Race asks, his voice quiet.

“I don’t know.”

“Will you sing for me?”

A common request in the Lodging House, but something that seems strange and out of place in the Refuge.

“Of course.” I say.

I sing of Santa Fe.

A place full of trees and flowers, and plenty of fresh air.

A place with no walls, just open spaces.

A place that is green and full of color.

I don’t know when I fall asleep, but I know it must be late in the night.

I can only hope for a peaceful sleep before a day that will no doubt be full of torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know if any of the timeline is confusing it works in my head but idk if it works on paper


	3. Albert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really sorry if this chapter is confusing albert's brain is confusing

Specs is the first one to react when Snyder leaves with Race in tow. He dashes over to where Crutchie is on the floor, unconscious but still breathing.

“Al, help me lift Crutchie.” Specs says, putting Crutchie’s head in his hands.

“Specs, let go of me, you ass.” Crutchie says, his eyes snapping open and his voice unusually cold.

I guess he’s not unconscious.

“Crutchie, you-” I start so say, joining Specs next to him on the floor.

“Al, I don’t need your help.” Crutchie snaps.

This isn’t good.

This isn’t good at all.

You can probably guess why.

“I was gonna tell ya that ya had somethin’ on ya face.” I finish plainly.

“No shit.” Crutchie deadpans, but I can tell he’s holding back a smile.

“It’s kinda reddish, is it ketchup, maybe?”

This is easy.

I can focus on the playful banter between me and Crutchie, not the fact that the person I love most in the world is no doubt being subject to some sick torture right now.

“Nah, not ketchup I don’t think.” A smile does manage to lighten Crutchie’s face a bit, and it’s just so naturally contagious that I can’t help but giggle.

“Then what could it be, huh? In a place as wonderful as this?” I wave my arms around, gesturing to the bunk room at large.

“Surely not blood!” Specs gasps in fake shock.

“Oh no, how could I even get blood on my face here?” Crutchie asks, using Specs’s shoulder to pull himself into a sitting position.

I see him grimace a little when his bad leg twists in the wrong direction.

“Is he not unconscious then?” Davey asks, walking up.

“Sometimes fakin’ it just turns out better, Dave. If you’se unconscious, he usually stops beatin’ on ya.” Crutchie shrugs.

“Usually.” I mumble under my breath.

“You’ll learn the rules soon enough, Davey.” Specs says, and I note the hint of sadness in his voice. “Ya kinda have to.”

“C’mon, Crutch, let’s get ya cleaned up a bit. I don’t want none of that gettin’ infected.” Specs says, and instead of trying to lift Crutchie he holds out his arm for Crutchie to pull himself up with.

Using Specs as a temporary crutch, Crutchie makes it to an empty bunk and sits down on it.

“Haven’t had a relatively proper bed in days.” He sighs, leaning back against the bunk post.

“Where did he keep ya?” I ask.

“Basement.”

“I swear, I’ll-”

“Calm down Specs, it ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle.”

“How long?” Specs demands.

“Like I said, a few days. It ain’t nothin’ though.”

“It is somethin’!”

I know Specs and Crutchie can argue for hours, and I know I won’t be very helpful with cleaning up Crutchie’s injuries, so I go to the back of the room, where I know I can think on my own for a bit.

I sit down in a small corner, drawing my knees up to my chest and letting my thoughts wander.

It’s hard to think though, because I can hear something.

It’s quiet at first, and I have to strain my ears to hear it better.

A single scream echoes up through the floor, long and wavering.

A scream I’ve heard too many times before.

A scream that breaks my heart.

A scream that is unmistakably Race’s, no doubt coming from the basement.

I hunch my shoulders and close my eyes, not sleeping, but letting the world move around me.

*****

I wake up to a shirt being laid on top of me.

It’s Ike’s, I can tell from the faded baby blue color and the length of the sleeves, and it is clearly meant as a sign of compassion, so I wrap it around my shoulders.

It's cold in here, just like always.

Some things never change.

I can tell from the sun streaming in through the window that I actually slept through the night.

It’s been a day since Crutchie was brought back, a day since Race was taken away.

Which means that Race has to come back soon.

He has to.

Snyder never keeps anyone in the basement for too long, and Race has already been there for a day.

But Race was always the one capable of pissing off Snyder more than anyone else could, so he always was in the basement for longer periods of time.

He was down there for over a week once, I wouldn’t be surprised if Snyder keeps him there for a while.

But the screams.

If Race was already screaming, that means Snyder would give him a break soon.

In theory.

Race can handle a lot, I know that, but there is a point where he can’t handle it anymore.

That’s usually when the screams come in.

And if he’s already screaming…

“Davey?”

I flinch out of instinct, but relax my shoulders when I see it’s just Sarah at the window.

“Sarah!” That’s Les, running over to the window. 

I see Davey follow him, and the three siblings talk for a while, but a lot of it I can’t understand because eventually they slip into rapid Yiddish.

Specs is running over now, what’s he doing that for? I thought he was helping Crutchie?

“Snyder’s coming back!” Specs hisses.

Oh, that’s why.

Not good.

I jump up from my position on the floor, knowing it’s a weak spot if Snyder comes back this way.

I can’t believe I didn’t hear the pounding footsteps from the hallway. Sarah quickly ducks away from the window, Les vaults himself into the nearest bunk, and Davey, Specs, and I sprint back to our bunks at the front of the room.

The door slams open, but Snyder doesn’t even enter.

All he does is shove Race through the doorway and leave.

Once we recover from the shock of the sudden and brief visit, a chorus of whispers rises up in the room.

I run over to where Race is lying face down on the hard floor and lift his face gently.

His lip is split and he has a black eye forming.

And then I notice that he’s shirtless.

Which can’t be good.

My eyes move to his bare back, and I gasp a little when I see red burns, clearly fresh, scattered haphazardly over the scars from years before.

“Al?” Race is barely conscious, and his eyes are foggy.

“Yeah. It’s me, Racer.”

“Am I dead?”

“No.”

“It hurts.

“I know.”

“Kiss me?”

I oblige, leaning towards him and locking our lips together.

I slowly lift Race into a sitting position, still keeping our lips pressed together, but he pulls away and hisses in pain.

“What did he-”

Race shakes his head and stands all the way up.

I try to steady him with an offered arm, but he pushes past me to go sit down on our bunk.

Understandable.

He’s been through a lot in the past 24 hours, he doesn’t need more trouble from his idiot boyfriend.

Or from anyone else, apparently.

He also pushes away Specs and Davey, opting to take a nap instead.

“Is he okay?” Les asks quietly, coming up to me and clinging to my pant leg.

“He’s gonna be fine, Shortstop.” I assure him.

“He’s all alone. Doesn’t he want to be with you?”

A fair question, I guess.

“He wants to be alone right now.” I explain.

“Why?”

How do I explain to someone so innocent what happens in the Refuge? How am I supposed to look into Les’s eyes and tell him that Snyder can do things to you that make you sensitive to every touch, wary of even your closest friends, and unable to even look at the people you love most?

“He’s tired.” I say dumbly.

“Don’t lie to me! I’m not just some little kid! Davey!” Les huffs, clearly frustrated at my answer.

“Les? Are you okay?” Davey is over in a second, examining Les for injuries.

“Albert won’t tell me why Race is sleeping all alone and sad!”

“Oh.” That’s all Davey can say.

“Tell me! I’m not too young!” Les demands.

“Les, any age is too young. Jack was 8. Race was 7. Finch was 11. I was 13. Specs was 9. And that’s not even saying what we went through before the Refuge.” I say. “Just-count yourself lucky that you don’t understand yet.” I go to the very back of the room to the window. I sit on the ledge and stare out at the grey landscape before me, wishing I could make the bars disappear.

I suddenly understand the appeal of Santa Fe, a place where everything is green and there are no prison bars to keep you trapped.

“Hey, Al.” I turn my gaze away from the window and see Race.

“I thought you were napping.” I say morosely.

“Aw, don’t be such a sadsack! I only needed fifteen minutes. I feel a hell of a lot better now, trust me.”

“Race, I’ve known you for years. I can tell when your smile is fake.”

“I ain’t fakin’, Albo! I’m fit as a fiddle!”

“Yeah, and I’m not scared out of my wits to be in this hellhole again.”

“Al, listen.” Race says, his voice quieter now. “Me, you, Crutchie, Specs, Mush, an’ Davey, we’se all they have right now. You know that. Jack’s down in a closet in Snyder’s office, the boys need us. If they see us bein’ all sad an’ hopeless, they’ll start bein’ all sad an’ hopeless too.”

“I know, I know!” I say. “It’s jus’- it’s hard, y’know? Seein’ Les an’ the few boys that haven’t been here, knowin’ that they have no clue what’s comin’. What happens ta ya.”

“I know.”

We sit on the windowsill together, not needing to talk, just being next to each other is enough.

“I was really scared, Racer.”

Race doesn’t say anything in response.

“I know ya can handle yourself, but-”

“I’m gonna go ask Specs for his shirt.” Race says abruptly, standing up and stretching his arms.

I open my mouth to say something more, but stop myself.

What would I say? Don’t do anything stupid? Be safe? Neither of those are very achievable. In order to keep everyone else safe, Race must both do something stupid and risk his own safety.

Besides, Race walked away for a reason.

He doesn’t want to talk to me.

My problems are so small compared to his, he was the one being beaten to a pulp.

I made him uncomfortable by complaining about my small issues.

What right do I have to complain when he’s going through so much more?

I need a nap.

I stand up from the sill and plop down on a bunk.

“Hey!”

“Agh, sorry, Crutch!” I get up immediately, discovering I just sat on Crutchie’s arm.

“Whatcha doin’ goin’ an’ sittin’ on people’s arms like that?” He’s joking, but I still apologize again.

“Can I talk ta ya?” I ask.

“Sure thing.” Crutchie pats an empty space of bed next to him, and I sit down again. “I’se guessin’ this is about Race?”

I open my mouth to say something, but bury my head in Crutchie’s arms instead. He wraps me in a tight hug, drawing circles on my back with his finger.

I don’t cry.

I don’t let out a sob or shed any tears, I know what everyone would start thinking if I started to cry, but I simply let myself be in Crutchie’s warm embrace.

It’s so wonderful having a best friend.

“He’s gonna be okay, Al.” Crutchie whispers softly.

“It’s so hard. I’se so scared for ‘im. Snyder already has it out for ‘im, an’ he’s only gonna keep talkin’ back-” My voice is quiet and strained.

“Al, calm down. It’s okay.”

“It’s not-” My breath hitches, and I suddenly can’t breathe at all.

I can’t feel Crutchie’s arms around me anymore.

I can barely see anything, everything looks like a blur.

I can’t hear, although I don’t know if there even is anything to hear.

I’m trying to breathe, but I can’t.

My lungs are full of cement.

I know I’m dying, I can just tell.

“Breathe, Al!” The command is muffled, but I can hear it.

I can also hear the counting, it’s probably Specs, and I try to level my breathing with it.

The little bit of air that manages to fill my lungs helps a bit.

I’m starting to hear more now, muffled sounds coming through in fragments.

“Albie!”

“Okay?”

“My fault!”

“Talk!”

“Space!”

“Breathe!”

I can feel again!

Yay!

Not yay.

Not fucking yay at all.

Because when I can feel again I can feel tears streaming down my face.

Which is very, very bad.

“Racer.”

“Snyder!”

I can see again!

Yay!

Not yay.

Not fucking yay at all.

Because when my vision clears I’m lying on the floor alone, my friends are all huddled in corners on their bunks, and Snyder is looming over me, smirking vengefully.

Which is very, very bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha! a cliffhanger!


	4. Albert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is literally half of a chapter but it's important for later  
> also: the f slur is used in this chapter, but it's starred out

“Get up.” Snyder says roughly, a look of disgust on his face.

“I can’t.” I mumble upon realizing that I can’t feel my legs. This happens sometimes, when I freak out like that. Random parts of my body just stop functioning.

“Useless piece of shit.” Snyder kicks at me, and I curl in on myself protectively. “Get up, boy.” He commands, his voice sharper now.

I still can’t move my legs. Which is a problem. I push myself up with my arms and manage to stumble to my feet, but my legs give out immediately. My face meets the floor, and my head hits wood with a sickening crack.

The room spins as I’m pulled off the ground by hair, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out in pain.

“You’re lucky I have more important things to do than deal with f**s like you.” He snarls. “But I’ll be back to deal with you later.” This last part he whispers in my ear, and his voice makes me want to vomit.

Snyder shoves me against the wall, drops me to the floor, and walks away.

I know I’m worthless, it’s something I remind myself every day, but hearing it come from someone else is always so much worse. Because now I know for sure that it’s true.

That I’m not worth anything to anyone.

My head swims as I see Snyder cross the room to grab Davey instead, but I don’t have the strength to try and do anything about it.

I can barely keep my eyes open at this point.


	5. Davey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this snyder is heavily influenced by 1992 snyder

I don’t quite know what to expect.

Crutchie came back bloody and pissed off.

Race came back burned and fragile.

What will Les see when Snyder is done with me?

What will Sarah see when she comes back to the window?

“Sit down.” Snyder says curtly.

I sit in the hard backed chair in front of his lavish desk, my hands shaking.

“You’re pals with Kelly, aren’t you?” Snyder’s cold eyes pierce into mine, and it takes all of my willpower to not look away.

“What’s it to you?” I say, knowing fake confidence is the only way to pull through this. That’s how Jack and Race get through tough situations, right? Pretending to be cocky and brave?

The slap stings painfully, but it fails to wipe the shit eating grin off my face.

“We don’t have to do this the hard way.” Snyder warns, sitting back in his chair. I notice his gaze falter for a moment, his eyes moving to a plain wooden door off to the side of the office.

“Of course. I sell out all of my brothers, and you don’t torture me.” I say sarcastically.

“Smart boy. No wonder they call you Mouth.” His eyes flit back to the door again and then right back to me.

I don’t want to ask him how he knows that I’m called Mouth.

There’s a sudden scuffling sound, and I can hear what sounds like crying.

“What’s behind that door?” I ask, pointing to the door.

“None of your concern.” Snyder’s eyes move to the wood again, and his eyes are alight with madness.

The sound gets louder, it’s impossible to ignore now.

“Jack?” I try to keep my voice level, but I can’t help but imagine Jack, bloody and bruised, trapped in a room so small that all he can do is sit with his knees drawn up to his chest, wondering what’s happening outside.

Can he hear me?

“This is your last chance, boy.” Snyder slams his fist down on the desk, and my eyes snap back to him. “What were you planning next for the strike?” He demands.

He doesn’t care about the strike.

Why would he?

He crashed the rally, arrested all of Manhattan, the King of Brooklyn, and the Queen of the Bronx.

The rally was the most recent thing we planned, Snyder must know this.

So why bother asking about it?

What does he want?

He’s keeping Jack in his office, a place he can’t easily escape from.

He beat up Crutchie and kept him in the basement, but brought him to the bunk room in exchange for Race.

He kept Race in the basement for a little over a day and then brought him back.

We could hear Race’s screams, which is apparently uncommon for him, at least for the first day.

He threatened Albert, but opted for me instead.

So he could question me about the strike.

It doesn’t make sense!

What is he after?

Mush told me that he always has a plan, every move he makes is carefully considered.

Crutchie.

Jack.

Race.

Albert.

Me.

“It doesn’t matter what I say, does it?” I ask, suddenly realizing Snyder’s game.

“That depends.” Snyder says, grinning now.

“On what?” I’m afraid to find out the answer.

“How much pain you can handle.”

I used to be great at jigsaw puzzles when I was a kid. It annoyed Sarah whenever I found where a piece went before she did, and I would always clap my hands with glee whenever I finished a puzzle and made a map or a flower.

Now I’m not liking puzzles so much.

Because with those few words Snyder put the last piece in place and I don’t like the picture it made one bit.

I want to throw the picture across the room and scatter the pieces like Sarah would do.

He wants to break us down, one by one, destroy our union one newsie at a time. Or multiple at a time if he can.

Some people take longer than others, but Snyder thinks I’ll be easy.

He thinks one choice can destroy me.

And it very well might.

If I “give him information”, information he doesn’t need, information that doesn’t even exist, I get sent back to the bunk room completely unscathed. But everyone will know me as a traitor, willing to sell everyone out to save myself.

If I refuse to tell him anything, I get beat up. There’s no telling how bad, it would depend on how cocky I am. But cocky or not, it would be one more worry for the boys. One more worry for my family.

“I don’t know anything about the strike.”

I’m good at logical reasoning. I’m good at figuring out which choice is the proper choice. Choice one is technically the smarter choice, it would mean not getting beat up. But I joined the strike for a reason. I’m not sacrificing my ideals just to save myself. Jack didn’t take the deal, neither will I.

But he did take the deal, didn’t he? Well, Snyder said he did. But Crutchie told me he saw Jack. So did Race. I’ve been assuming Jack is behind the door the whole time, what if it’s not? No, it has to be. Snyder lied, just like Crutchie and Race said he did. I trust my brothers more than a snake.

“I see you’re going to make this difficult for yourself.” Snyder says tightly. “Fine. Have it your way.”

Before I can even blink I’m suddenly on the ground, Snyder’s brass knuckles smashing into my skull.

My back howls in pain upon its impact with the hard floor, and stars spin in front of my eyes.

My chair is tipped over on the ground, but that hardly matters.

What matters is that I too am on the ground, and I’m being beaten to a pulp.

And there’s pain.

So much pain.

It’s more pain than I’ve ever been in in my whole life.

I want to cry out, yell for someone to help, but I know it’ll be pointless. It will only worry the boys.

But wait.

Is that what I’m supposed to do?

Does he want me to repress my screams, or will screaming make him finish with me faster?

I suddenly remember what Crutchie said earlier. Sometimes you have to pretend, he said. Is that what I have to do? Scream my throat raw to make him stop? Although part of me suspects he won’t stop no matter what I do.

So I sit and take it.

I let Snyder pull me up by my shirt collar and land punch after punch on me.  
I spit blood and try my hardest to fight back, but I don’t scream. I don’t yell. I don’t let a single tear fall down my face.

Snyder stops eventually, he gets bored I guess, and I crash back down to the floor.

“Not as easy as you thought, huh?” I ask, somehow managing a smirk.

Needless to say, Snyder is very pissed off when he finally drags me back to the bunk room and deposits me on the floor. He yells for a bit, but for some reason my ears have decided to block out all sound in the world, causing me to not have a clue what the hell he’s yelling about. Snyder turns to leave the room, but pauses for a second, and the last thing I see before the world turns to black is Snyder’s boot coming straight on towards my face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i stole the puzzle thing from magnus chase IM SORRY RICK RIORDAN


	6. Crutchie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's something super subtle in this chapter about characters and personalities and changing if you can find it i will send you a virtual hug (there's probably more than one subtlety tbh)

Yeah, you could say I’ve been having a pretty bad week.

First off, my leg has been acting up lately with the changing of the weather.

And then Pulitzer raised the price of papers.

And we were going on strike, and things seemed fine for a bit, and then I got arrested.

And I thought to myself, ok Crutchie, this is still fine. Sure, Jack abandoned you, and sure, you’re in a lot of pain, but at least the strike is continuing! At least no one else was arrested! And then what happens? Jack gets brought down to the basement and everything feels hopeless again. I get subjected to Snyder’s belt, a secret I will never reveal to any of my brothers, and hear words that are harsh and biting, insults that will no doubt haunt me until I die, and if I’m being honest, that might not be too far in the future. And when I’m finally released from the basement, I get sent to a room where all of my brothers are, covered in dirt, bruises, and a blanket of despair. And Race took my place in the basement while I sat uselessly on a bunk, letting Specs worry about me.

But Race’s screams penetrated my eardrums and I couldn't help but wonder if that’s what I sounded like.

And Race comes back a mess, and I have to comfort Albert, but suddenly he’s having a panic attack and Davey is being dragged away.

And I still have to put on a goddamned smile.

“Crutchie?” A small voice asks.

I look down and see Les, eyes wide and full of tears that refuse to spill over.

“Come up and sit with me.” I offer, patting the space next to me on my bunk. Les crawls up onto the bunk and curls in next to me, and my heart melts.

This is what it feels like having a little brother.

“Is David gonna be okay?” He asks quietly.

“Davey’s gonna be fine.” I assure him, although not quite believing myself.

Why is this my job? Why is it my responsibility to smile and say that everything is all good? Why can’t I not be okay for once?

Because Crutchie Morris without a smile is a world without oxygen.

People ask me what’s wrong every other second, and then do stupid things to try and cheer me up, even if I’m not sad or upset.

And now, the one time when I would appreciate a shoulder to lean on, I have to stand tall and be a leader.

“I’m scared.” Les admits.

I put my arm gently around the small boy’s shoulders.

“I know, kid.”

I sound like Jack.

I sound exactly like Jack.

“But Davey’s tough.” I say. “There ain’t nothin’ he can’t handle.”

“Is he gonna-gonna be like Race?”

Bruised and bloodied, broken and beaten down.

He’s afraid to see his brother push him away like Race did to Albert, afraid to see him flinch at the smallest sounds and cry out at the lightest touch.

Do I lie to Les, tell him Davey is going to come back unscathed?

Or tell him the truth, a truth that could break him.

“He might be a bit banged up, but he ain’t gonna be any different.” I say, weighing my words carefully.

I ended up lying anyway.

Because there is no doubt in my mind that Davey will come back different.

But too much truth can hurt, I learned that the hard way.

Les will see Davey when Snyder brings him back, there’s no avoiding that, but the darkness that will no doubt be clouding his eyes, hiding that from Les is the least I can do.

“You should get some rest.” I say, knowing Les will just want to stay up and wait for Davey.

“Okay.” Les says. “Thanks Charlie.” And he closes his eyes and slowly drifts off.

I wish it were that easy for me to fall asleep. I know I should be asleep, I haven’t slept for real in who knows how long, but even the thought of closing my eyes scares me.

Because I know what I’ll see.

Fists coming much too close to my face, boots smashing down on my leg, blood that will never stop coming, flowing out of me like a river, and Jack.

Jack, the one person I’ve been able to trust as long as I’ve known him, broken, scared.

Crying.

It was the first time I’ve seen Jack cry.

Cry for real, I mean.

I’ve heard muffled sobs and seen puffy eyes, but I hadn’t seen any real tears until two days ago.

Two days ago when Jack was in the basement with me, and Snyder said things.

And you might think that words can’t really be that bad, but they can be.

It was bad when Snyder broke Jack’s leg.

No, not just bad, horrifying.

Hearing Jack’s almost animalistic howl, his eyes tear stricken and full of pain. His cries for hep piercing the air and the loud crack his bone made when Snyder brought his cane down upon it.

I’ll never forget what Snyder said after. It’s not something I want to say, not something I ever want to hear again, but something that I know will replay in my nightmares every night until I wake up screaming and helpless, lost and alone.

But that’s not how Crutchie Morris thinks! Crutchie Morris stays positive and happy, smiling and optimistic! He doesn’t think about his pain or suffering, he doesn’t worry endlessly about Jack! He doesn’t think he’s going to die in the Refuge, he doesn’t think Davey is being beaten within an inch of his life for helping lead the strike! He doesn’t think Race is going to have a breakdown! He doesn’t want to cry his eyes out into Jack’s arms! Crutchie Morris doesn’t think that life is pointless! Cr-

“Utchie!”

I’m shaken out of my own mind by Specs, who’s hands are shaking wildy.

“What’s wrong?” I ask immediately.

“Ya just missed Snyder. He’s real mad, yelled for a while before finally leavin’.”

“Is Davey back?”

“Yeah.” Specs says gravely.

I pull myself off the bed, once again using Specs as a crutch, and he helps me over to the front of the room, where Davey is on the floor, unconscious.

His face is peppered with bruises, and there’s blood on his shirt. His lips are tinged red with the cursed substance, and I’m suddenly seeing Race when he came back from the Refuge the first time, blood stained lips and eyes that have seen pain for the first time.

I want to break down and cry.

That is all I want to do.

But God forbid Crutchie Morris not smile for a single second.

God forbid he let the sadness and grief overwhelm him for once instead of pushing it all down with a fake laugh.

But for once I can’t seem to say that everything is going to be fine.

I can’t get the words out.

I can’t even open my mouth because I know all that will escape will be a strangled sob.

My face is hot and my throat is tight, but I swallow and push through.

Because I have to.

I zone out as I direct Specs and Mush on how to transfer Davey to a bunk, slipping into my leader mode.

I don’t know what happens to the rest of the day, I’m just sort of floating through everything, trying to both fend off a panic attack and be Jack.

At some point Specs insists that I go to sleep, so I lay down on a bunk and keep my eyes open for as long as I can.

But then my eyes slowly drift close.

And the nightmares begin.


	7. Specs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a really short chapter

I don’t want to be back here.   


I don’t want to put on a smile.   


I want be back at the Lodging House, safe in Romeo’s arms, and cry for as long as I need to until the pain goes away.   


But I can’t do that.   


I have to fight back the nausea and wrap a strip of fabric around Crutchie’s head wound.   


I have to smile and rumple Skittery’s hair and tell him that everything will be alright.   


I have to stay calm when Albert starts having a panic attack.   


I have to run for the nearest bed when Snyder comes in.   


I have to watch in horror at the events that play out before my eyes and be silent.

I have to deal with Snyder’s shouting.

I have to do nothing.

I have to do something!   


I’m the one that helps people, but I don’t feel that important.   


I’m just sort of here, not a leader but not a follower.   


I grew up as a nice, compliant boy. Not rebellious or rude.

I always did as I was told, no matter what.

And then I was thrown out on the streets, kicked out by my own mother.

And then I got sent to the Refuge for the first time.

And then the second time.

And then I learned that the world was just bound to be cruel to me, that I couldn’t trust anyone but my own brothers.

When Pulitzer raised the price of papers, I was beyond pissed off.

I was ready to give everything to be a part of the strike, give everything to take down the adults.

And I did.

I gave everything.

And now I’m in the Refuge, and all of my brothers are here too.

And all I can do is fake a smile and bandage cuts.

I want to fight, I want to be useful.

But apparently the most useful thing I can do right now is hover over Davey, trying to figure out what to do.

Crutchie is taking a nap, he seemed like he needed one.

Mush is talking to Blink, holding his hand.

Les is sitting on a bunk, just staring at the floor.

Race and Albert are asleep on a bunk together, Albert wrapping Race protectively within his embrace.

I have to do something, but I feel useless.

Not that I can tell anyone, but I’m losing hope.


	8. Les

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stuff in italics and bold is translated from Yiddish (because i don’t speak Yiddish and don’t want to fuck up the translation)
> 
> jojo will be explained later long story short though he has depression and no filter
> 
> also this is the first time i’ve ever written in les’s pov sos sorry if it’s bad

No one ever takes you seriously when you’re young.

Even when you’re in a literal strike about letting young people have a say, you’re still looked down upon for being young.

I’m 10.

Well, nearly 10.

Albert told me himself, a lot of the newsies were younger than I am now when they were first sent to the Refuge or when they got kicked out of their homes or whatever.

But everyone acts like I can’t hear, like I can’t see.

Everyone says “little” like it’s bad, like we’re fragile.

They won’t even let me see my own brother.

I tried to go see him, but Crutchie and Specs shoved me away.

They’re older, they’re in charge. They’ve been here before, they know what to do.

I’m supposed to just trust everyone that’s older than me, because what does a ten year old know?

“David?”

Sarah is at the window again, and I jump up from the bunk I’m sitting on and run over to where she is sitting on the fire escape, looking through the bars.

“Les, are you alright?”

She recognized my tear stained cheeks immediately, and now she’s going to call for Davey and ask him why I’m upset.

“David!”

“He’s not gonna come, Sarah.” I say, looking down at my feet.

“Why not?”

“He’s not awake.”

“He’s sleeping?”

I shake my head.

“He’s not dead.” Albert says, walking up. He has a slight limp, I notice.

“Then what happened?” Sarah’s voice is shaking.

They’re ignoring me again.

Why bother talking to Les, who is too small and innocent to understand anything?

I wander across the bunk room and sit down next to JoJo, who is just sitting in a corner. His legs are spread out in front of him and his hands are moving fast, playing with his hat.

“What’s up, Les?” He asks, looking up from his hat.

“What happened to Davey?”

“Why’re ya askin’ me? I-”

“You’re the one most likely to tell me. Everyone else thinks I’m too young.”

“And I’m the gullible one.” JoJo smiles weakly. “Listen, Les, ya don’t really wanna know anythin’ ‘bout this place.”

“D’ya want me to learn the hard way?”

“Race taught you how to guilt trip, I see.” JoJo pauses for a second, then goes back to pulling at the stitches in his hat. “Fine. I’se guessin’ the Spider asked ‘im ‘bout the strike. Or maybe Jack. An’ Davey is either smart or stupid. He didn’t tell ‘im anythin’. He got soaked. The Spider is pissed now, so that won’t be great for later. My guess is he’ll come back tomorrow, drunk, an’ drag someone down ta the basement again. But y’know, if we’ll all be dead by the end of the month-”

“Fuck!”

The shout is unmistakably Davey’s, and I run over to where I know he is.

JoJo was starting to scare me.

“Fuck. Everything fucking hurts.”

“David?”

“Davey!”

I’m shoved away yet again, this time by Spot.

**_“Where am I? What happened?”_ **

“What’s he sayin’?” Spot asks.

_“ **David! It’s me, Les.”**_  I say, pushing past Spot so I can see David again.

_“ **Where are we?”**_

**_“We’re still in the Refuge, David.”_ **

**_“And what happened?”_ **

**_“David! Are you okay?”_**  Sarah shouts from the window.

_**“No, everything hurts.”** _

**_“Snyder took you out of the room and then brought you back here a few hours later. Do you remember anything?”_ **

**_“A door…”_ **

**_“A door?”_ **

“What’re they sayin’?” Spot hisses to Sarah.

“A door.” She says in English.

“Jack.” Race says plainly.

David nods.

“I thought Snyder said he left.” Buttons says.

“Jack don’t run from no fight!” A sentence I’ve repeated to myself over and over again, hoping against hope for it to be true. “Jack’s gonna get us outta here, he’s smart an’ strong an’ tough.”

“Sure thing, kid.”

No one listens to you when you’re young.

I know Jack is here, I trust my brother.


	9. Kid Blink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a gun in this chapter, so watch out please

I still feel like I can’t breathe.

 

It was days ago when it happened, but I still can’t breathe. Two guys pinned me to the wall, and I had only been expecting hits.   


Hits I can handle.   


And then suddenly there was a big guy in front of me, one that looked vaguely familiar, one that pointed a gun right at my face. I screamed, and then suddenly I couldn’t. Cold metal in my mouth, pressing down on my tongue, crawling its way to my throat.   


“I’m gonna shoot your goddamned guts out.”   


I couldn’t breathe, I was sure I was going to die right then.   


I was choking and gagging, I could feel hot sticky bile rising up to fight against the gun.   


“You deserve it, Louis.” The man growled, and that was when I recognized him.   


I tried to force out a word, something, anything that could save me, but the pistol was still held firmly in place.   


I thought I was going to die.   


I was sure of it.   


And then suddenly the metal receded, and the holder of the gun was pulled away roughly by a cop. I collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, retching on the nice plush carpet Medda always told us not to track mud on, but suddenly I was pulled away too. Another cop was holding me tightly by my upper arm, dragging me away, out of the theatre and into the cold chill of the night. I was shoved into a carriage already filled with half a dozen of my brothers. I was still coughing like mad, I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs.   


And him.   


I never thought I’d have to see him again.   


I left for good, escaped to Manhattan.   


My head is spinning, and I feel nauseous again.   


I need to talk to someone, I have to, but I don’t know who. I’ve told Mush my story a million times, and I think everyone knows it at least secondhand. I need someone with a cool head and who’s good at listening.   


Davey.   


I open my eyes and get up from my bunk. I don’t know why I laid down in the first place, I’m never able to nap in the middle of the day.   


“Davey?” I ask tentatively, wandering over to his bunk. He’s just sitting on the thin mattress, staring at the wall. “Can I talk ta ya? If ya don’t mind?”   


“Sure, Blink.” Davey says after a moment of pause.

Is this a good idea? Does he really want to talk? He’s probably just being nice. He only just woke up an hour or two ago, why would he want to talk to me?   


I sit down next to him on the bed.   


“I saw my brother.” I say.   


“Oh?”   


“Yeah, at the rally. He tried to shove a gun down my throat.”   


“Blink...”   


“I ain’t seen ‘im since who knows how long. I used ta live down in Brooklyn with my Pa an’ my two older brothers, but I left when I got this.” I gesture to my eyepatch.  “Got a bottle straight ta the face. Messed up my eye real bad, but I was already across the bridge by the time I realized I was half blind. Jack found me bleedin’ in an alley an’ carried me ta Medda’s. She helped me, I got my patch, an’ then I became a newsie.”   


“Wow.”   


“Kinda a lot ta take in, I guess. I’se real talkative, I’se sorry.”   


“I-”   


“I dunno why I talk so much. It really only gets me into trouble. ‘Sides, none of the other fellas talk as much as I do. About serious stuff, I mean. Race talks a bunch, but not much ‘bout his past. I told nearly everyone ‘bout myself, I just can’t seem ta keep it in. I gotta talk, I dunno why. An’ now I jus’ keep blabbin’ on. You jus’ went through hell an’ here I am complainin’. I-”

“Blink, it’s okay.” Davey says.

“Are ya sure? ‘Cause-”

“I could use something else to focus on right now. I don’t really want to think about anything going on in my life right now.”

“Don’t we all.” I agree.

We sit there for a moment, just two friends sitting on a bench in Central Park, and it’s nice. I smile at Davey, and Davey smiles at me.

“Did I ever tell ya the story ‘bout how Race an’ Albert got themselves stuck in a tree?” I ask.

Davey beams at me, and I start talking.


	10. Mush's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THERE IS RACISM IN THIS CHAPTER
> 
> this is 100% Ephraim Sykes's portrayal of Mush

One thing that anyone will say about me: I’m not great at coping.

With anything.

Ever.

Memories from the Refuge? Shove them away in a deep dark corner of my mind.

Bruises popping up on my arms? Shirt sleeves.

Hating my entire existence? Laugh it off.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to ignore problems when they’re staring you right in the face. And you want nothing more than to punch that face in.

Another thing that anyone will tell you is that I’m not too great managing my anger.

Which isn’t good.

Because when I think, “Hey, I’d like to punch that asshole in the face!” I actually punch that asshole in the face.

But it’s for good reason!   
I have to be tough, it’s the only way to survive.

I deal with a lot of shit in the Refuge, and that’s to be expected, especially considering how much shit I get outside of the Refuge, but it still sucks. Snyder ignores me for the most part, but the guards don’t. Even if all I do is sit and be quiet, some guard or another will always find an excuse to soak me.

That excuse being the color of my skin.

“Mush! C’mon!”

I’m pulled out of my thoughts by Blink, and I realize that everyone is leaving the room.

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“Breakfast, if ya can call it that. C’mon, y’know what’ll happen if we’re late.”

Oh, so we’re getting breakfast today. That means we’re also cleaning today.

You see, Snyder believes we only need to be fed on days we’re cleaning the building for him, because why would we need energy for sitting in bunk rooms all day?

“How’d ya sleep?” I ask Blink absentmindedly.

“Alright. I stayed up kinda late talkin’ ta Davey, but I did manage ta get a few hours in. How ‘bout you?”

I slept badly, my thoughts riddled with flashbacks and nightmares, but I’m not about to worry Blink by saying that.

“Not bad.”

Blink probably knows I’m lying, but he doesn’t say anything.

We eventually reach the dining room, a giant room willed with benches and tables, all filled with kids. The room is packed as always, with barely enough room to walk between the benches, but we manage to find our seats and sit down in front of our cold oatmeal without bumping into too many people.

“Hey, watch it!” A snide voice shouts, interrupting the silence.

I whip around at the sound and see standing behind me both Henry and a tall, muscular boy.

“S-sorry.” Henry stammers.

“Sorry don’t cut it!” The boy says, and pushes Henry. “Gimme ya breakfast and I might go easy on ya, ya-”

I’m on my feet and between the two before the boy can even finish the sentence.

“Get the fuck away from my brother!” I yell at the boy, clenching my fists. “You’re the one that wasn’t lookin’ where you was goin’, an’ you’re the one that pushed him! So I would suggest-”

“What, might I ask, gave you the need to yell, vermin?”

I turn around again to see a guard standing behind me, his lips curled into a sneer.

I also see that Henry is sitting down, hurriedly eating his oatmeal.

I smile, and look at the guard directly in his ugly face.

“That asshole,” I point to the boy who is now seated at his bench, snickering at me, “Pushed my friend and was rude ta ‘im. Considerin’ how much havin’ good manners is valued here, I thought I should let that asshole know that he wasn’t bein’ very polite.”

The punches are fine.

The punches are almost always fine.

I can handle pain, it’s just something that comes with life.

I can handle a strike to the jaw.

I can take a blow to the face.

It’s the words that hurt.

I should be able to deal with slurs and insults by now, I have to hear them every day, but for some reason it’s always worse in the Refuge.

I’ve talked to Crutchie and Albert about it, they understand.

They have to deal with it too.

But it’s different for me in a way that Crutchie and Albert can never understand.

But now is not the time for thinking about the deep corruption of life and society, because I’m on the ground and punches have changed to kicks.

The guard stops eventually, and I’m confused but grateful.

Usually I get dragged to some other room to be soaked for a while more, but I guess I’ll have to clean today after all.

“Mush.” A soft hand lands on my shoulder, and I take the other hand that is offered to me.

“Guess he wasn’t too pleased with me.” I mumble sheepishly, managing a shit eating grin.

Specs rolls his eyes as he helps me to my feet, and I nod at him in thanks.

The rest of the day is a normal shitty day in the Refuge, and by the time we’re back in our original bunk room, the sky is dark outside of the bars.

I sit down on a bottom bunk, the one I woke up in on the first day, and examine my hands.

After a full day of scrubbing the stairs clean, my palms are red and irritated from where the chemicals in the bleach sunk into my already stinging blisters.

“This sucks.” I mumble, clenching my fists, ignoring the pain that courses through my hands and up my arms.

I want to punch the wall.

I’m full with anger, I feel like I might explode from all of it building up.

I look around at the room, and the sight only adds to my anger.

This isn’t a place for kids. This isn’t how kids should be treated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is Katherine!


	11. Katherine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is unedited

I need to brainstorm. I need ideas. I need a plan. I sit on one of the many couches in one of the many sitting rooms of my father’s estate and pull out my notebook.

**_Ideas_ **

  * _Article_
  * _Drawings?_
  * _Spread word to all kids_
  * _Sarah_
  * _Stories_



Stories. I just wrote the word down to get it out, but I really have no clue why. Stories. Every newsie has a story, one is sure to be of help.

“Yes, is this Mr. Snyder?” I hear my father say from the other room. I sneak closer to the door and press my ear against the wood.

A pause. He’s on the telephone, I’m guessing.

“Yes, and how is our strike leader?”

A pause.

“You what?”

A pause.

“No!” He sounds truly angry. “I want an example made of the boy! I want this union gone!”

Fuck.

“They need to see him. I assure you you will be compensated for your troubles.”

I hear the phone slam down on the receiver and I jump back as the door I was leaning against is opened.

“Ah. Katherine. I’m assuming you heard my conversation with Mr. Snyder?”

“I did.” I say tightly. “And I think you should know that you’re doing the wrong thing.”

“I’m helping my business! And if that means making sure a young criminal gets the punishment he deserves-”

“Deserves? He’s being tortured!”

“As always, you’re exaggerating. It’s a juvenile jail, not a medieval dungeon from one of your stories.”

“Father, you can’t do this!” I say in desperation.

“Those street rats need disincline, Katherine.”

“Jack’s broken out before, he’ll just do it again.”

“Somehow I don’t believe that.”

I roll my eyes and grab my bag with my pen and notebook.

“I’m going to Darcy’s.” The lie comes easily, and I’m down the stairs, through the door, and on the sidewalk before my father can say another word.

I let my anger fuel me through my walk across the city, and I’m still so worked up when I reach the Jacobs’s apartment that I knock on the door a bit too loudly.

“Katherine!” Mrs. Jacobs says when she opens the door.

“Hello, Mrs. Jacobs.” I say, smiling politely. “Is Sarah here? I wanted to discuss something with her.”

“She’s actually-”

“I’m here! Hi!” I turn around, and Sarah is behind me, her face dirty and hair falling out of a bun.

“Sarah, thank goodness.” Mrs. Jacobs exclaims, embracing her daughter. When Sarah winces slightly, Mrs. Jacobs pulls away fast and holds her by the shoulders, examining her for injuries.

“Are you alright?” She asks anxiously.

“I’m fine, I just banged my shoulder against the fire escape.”

“I told you it was too dangerous!” Mrs. Jacobs scolds.

“I saw Les and David.” Sarah mumbles, looking down at the floor.

“Go tell your father, then.”

Sarah nods and steps into the apartment and past Mrs. Jacobs, disappearing into the second room.

“Come sit down, Katherine. Would you like anything to eat or drink?”

“Just water is fine, Mrs. Jacobs. Thank you.” I say, sitting down in one of the chairs at the Jacobs’s kitchen table.

“Oh, call me Esther.” Esther says kindly, setting a glass of water down in front of me. “You and Sarah are close friends?”

The question comes out odd, especially considering that she knows we’re friends.

“We are.”

She can’t know, can she?

“That’s nice. Sarah was always friends with the boys at school, and I was glad to hear she had a female friend to talk about them with.” She chuckles.

“Yeah.” I fake a laugh, something I’ve gotten quite good at as a reporter. “I love telling her stories about my friend Bill. His father is Mr. Hearst, at the Sun, and our fathers have been planning on betrothing us, to help the papers.”

“Oh! How lovely!”

“And Sarah hasn’t mentioned anyone particular from school, but she has been talking to me an awful lot about Race.”

Should I feel bad about lying? Maybe. Do I? No. The lie helps everyone concerned with it, and it’s not even necessarily a lie! My father does want to betroth me to Bill, and Sarah does talk about Race a lot.

“She does mention that boy often, doesn’t she?”

“Kath, we should go.” Sarah says, breezing into the room.

“Okay. Thank you, Esther.”

Sarah is already halfway out the door by the time I make it there.

“What’d you tell her?” Sarah asks as soon as we’re on the sidewalk.

“You fancy Race.”

“Seriously? Race?”

“You’re only a few months apart, and you already talk about him all the time.”

“Fair enough. You mentioned Bill as well?”

“Yep. Now tell me, how are the boys?”

Sarah’s face darkens at the question, and that doesn’t give me much hope.

“It’s bad. David is hurt, everyone’s upset, and Jack-” Sarah’s voice breaks for a moment, and we stop walking. “David says he’s behind a door in Snyder’s office. Race says he’s beat up pretty bad.”

“Oh my gosh…We have to do something.” I say after a beat of silence. “Help them somehow. I want to visit them.” I say decisively.

“Are you sure?” Sarah asks. “It’s-”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“Ok.”

We continue our walk in silence, and I think more about what Sarah said.

About what my father said.

A door.

An example made of him.

What does it mean?

What can I do?

What-

“We’re here, Kath.” Sarah says.

The neighborhood is shitty, to say the least. Broken down buildings, broken glass, stray cats.

And then the Refuge itself.

It’s a tall brick building, with two wooden front doors preceded by stone front steps. There’s a wall on either side of the building.

“We climb that tree, then go down the wall and up the fire escape.” Sarah says, pointing to a scraggly tree in front of the wall, positioned just towards the right of the building.

“Right.”

I won’t tell Sarah I’m nervous, I can’t.

So what if I’ve never climbed a tree before? So what if I’m worried about the screams I can hear from far away? So what if I’m anxious about the telephone call my father made?

Sarah is already on top of the wall, and I’m only halfway up the tree.

“Ya need help?” Sarah asks as I struggle to free my skirts from a stray tree branch.

“I got it.” I say, although I end up accidentally tearing the fabric when I finally manage to make it out of the tree and onto the wall.

“Where to?” I ask.

“Down the wall and up the fire escape.” Sarah says.

“How do we get down the wall?” I ask nervously, looking down at the pavement far below.

“There’s a rope that we can use to climb down.”

“Ok.”

I definitely don’t scrape up my elbows climbing down the wall and up the fire escape.

I’m definitely not holding back tears when we reach a window and Sarah calls out to Davey through the bars.

“Sarah, Kath!” Davey’s voice is gravelly and hoarse, and there’s blood on his lips. “How are ya?”

He’s not okay, I can tell.

“We’se fine. How ‘bout you, Dave?”

Sarah sounds different, a bit more like a newsie.

“Jus’ got back from cleanin’ about an hour or two ago.” Davey says. “What brings ya back so soon?”   
“Kath wanted to visit.” Sarah explains.

“I was wondering if I could talk to Specs?” I ask a bit tentatively.

C’mon Katherine, you’re braver than this!

“Of course. I’ll get ‘im.”

So Davey disappears from the window and comes back a few moments later with Specs.

“Heya, Kath.”

Specs looks like he hasn’t slept in days, which I realize he probably hasn’t.

“Listen, Specs, I know this isn’t much of an idea, but I thought you could help me with this? See, I was taking notes,” I keep talking as I pull out my notebook, “And I wrote this down and I thought you might have an opinion.”

Specs stares at the paper for a moment, and then his eyes widen.

“Kath, you’se a genius!” He exclaims.

“I am?”

“Drawings, stories! Go up ta Jack’s penthouse, he’s got all these insane drawings. I dunno what ya can do wit’ ‘em, maybe put ‘em in a pape, but they gotta be useful!”

“Thanks, Specs.” I smile. “I-”

“I can hear ‘im comin’!” A voice shouts from the room beyond the barred window.

“Ya gotta get outta here, the Spider’s back.” Specs says hurriedly.

“But-” I start to protest.   
“We’ll be fine, jus’ get those drawings!”

Everything else happens in a blur.

Sarah and I are down the fire escape, over the wall, and back on the street. Sarah and I are in front of the Lodging House. Sarah and I are on the roof, up in Jack’s penthouse.

“Kath?” Sarah asks.

“What?”

“You’ve been quiet the whole walk.”

“Sorry, I guess I was just thinking.”   
And thinking I was.

Thinking about the blood on Davey’s face, the dirt on Specs’s hands, the anger in my father’s voice.

What will Jack’s drawings reveal.

“Kath, ya gotta see these…” Sarah says, holding out a stack of ink-smeared paper to me.

I stare at the papers open-mouthed, not believing what I’m seeing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know my timeline is confusing if you have any questions please ask  
> also sarah's gonna get an awesome character arc


	12. Jack

You don’t know what happened, do you? Well I’m not surprised. Snyder won’t even let me tell the reader what’s going on! Wait, was I not supposed to say that? Probably not, but whatever.

You think I’m crazy now, don’t you?

You’re probably right.

Talking to myself in my head as if my life were a book that someone is reading.

Anyways, I remember waking up in the basement.

Race was still on the floor in the middle of the room.

When Race woke up I told him about my closet, but he didn’t say much to me.

And then Snyder came back.

“Tell me about the strike and I’ll let you go back upstairs.” He said.

I said no.

So did Race.

Snyder scowled and said he’d give us one more chance.

We refused.

So Snyder tied my wrists together and soaked Race.

I had to watch, helpless, as Snyder landed hit upon hit on my brother.

Race didn’t say anything, just let the hits come.

I tried to move across the room to help him, but my leg and restrained wrists prevented me from doing so.

I hated seeing him in pain like that.

But I think Snyder got bored with Race though, or even just frustrated, because soon he dragged Race away, out of the basement.

And then Snyder came back to deal with me.

My leg hurt a lot.

Snyder stomped on it, kept his boot pressed down on the surely splintered bone until I would say that one word.

I didn’t want to, I really didn’t.

But you don’t get it, I was weak, I was hurt.

“I can do worse.” Snyder growled.

“I ain’t gonna cave.” I said through gritted teeth.

“Or maybe I’ll just go through every one of your newsies until I get what I want. I’m sure that little boy can’t take as much pain as you can, Kelly.”

“No! Don’t!”

“Give me a reason.”

I didn’t have a choice.

“Davey!” I gasped. “He’s the brains!”

The pressure on my leg receded, and I regretted it.

I was put back in my closet and I was forced to listen to the conversation between Davey and Snyder.

Forced to listen as Davey took the beating I gave him.

I’m sick of being stuck.

Tied up in a closet while my brothers are suffering.

It’s been mostly quiet for today, but now I can hear yelling through the door, and I know that can’t be good for me.

“You can’t- you’re not- fine!”

There’s a crash and a swear, and I tense my shoulders, preparing for my closet to open and the next beating to begin.

And the door opens, and I am indeed greeted with a kick to my ribs, but instead of more hits I only get pulled up by my shirt collar and dragged out of the closet.

He can’t be taking me back to the basement, not this soon.

I told him Davey’s name, even if it was a day ago.

No, he’s not taking me to the basement, he just wants me at a better angle to put me in even worse pain.

And even worse pain I get.

I can feel blood dripping down from my nose, splattering across my shirt in shiny red drops, and Snyder’s fists feel like they’re made of fire.

He’s shouting at me, but it’s just the normal stuff I’m used to.

Useless, good for nothing, son of a bitch, bastard, disgusting, the list goes on and on.

I stay still and take the soaking, hoping that he just needs a punching bag to release his anger.

“You’re weak, Sullivan. Can’t even fight back anymore!” Snyder sneers.

“You’re an asshole.” I choke out through the blood.

“Pathetic. Fuckin’ pathetic.”

“At least I have the balls to fight for myself.”

“You’re not even fighting, Sullivan.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Can’t stand to live anything but your same old lie?”

“Let go of me and you’ll see.” I snarl.

“Fine.” Snyder shoots back.

I fall right on my ass, back still against the wall.

I don’t have enough strength in my leg to stand up.

I feel weak, stupid.

Snyder is laughing at me, he thinks this is hilarious.

“I think you need to learn to watch your mouth.”

His boot digs into my ribcage, and I grunt in pain.

Then he lifts me up my by shirt collar and drags me out of his office.

He must be taking me to the basement now, where else could he be taking me?

I’m scared.

I’m scared.

I’m scared I’m scared I’m scared I’m scared I’m scared I’m-

“Your fearless leader.”

I’m on the floor of a bunk room, my arms in front of me, trying to catch my fall, and leg sprawled out awkwardly behind me.

Snyder’s voice is dripping with sarcasm, and he’s addressing everyone in the room.

Which room am I in?

Three, with Ten Pin and Grates?

Eight, with Split and Rob?

I push myself up with my forearms and I lift my head to see.

It’s all of my boys.

Every single one of them.

Mush, Finch, Mike, Specs, Elmer, every single one.

I knew Crutchie was here, I knew Race was here, I could assume Albert was here from Snyder’s reference to him, I knew Davey was here because I heard him through the door, but I didn’t know they were all here.

All of my newsies, everyone I swore to protect, everyone that I promised would never be put in this hell.

I failed.

I’m seeing all of them right in front of me.

And they’re all seeing me.

Every broken part.

I think Snyder leaves, because suddenly people are surrounding me.

“Give ‘im some space!” Mush directs.

Davey is here, in front of me, so is Race.

“Where’s Crutchie?”

I shouldn’t have asked that, I really shouldn’t have, but I can’t bring myself to care at this point.

Specs is here now, acting as a temporary crutch for Crutchie.

Crutchie, the only person I want to see for the rest of my life.

“Charlie,” I breathe, not caring who’s around. “I-I’se sorry.” I swallow my original statement, replacing it with a trademark guilty Jack Kelly apology.

“Don’t apologize, ya idiot.” Crutchie says, his voice both hard and soft.

Race doesn’t say anything, just reaches forward to untie my wrists.

“He got ya shoulder again.” Specs comments.

“Sure did.”

I don’t want to do this.

I don’t want to pretend everything is fine when it’s clearly not.

“I can set it.”

“Thanks.”

Specs gets me.

He doesn’t talk too much or take too long to say what he’s thinking.

He’s quick to get to the point.

I lay down on my back, and Specs takes my right arm in his hands.

“Mush, grab me a sheet or somethin’.” Specs asks.

Mush nods and steps away.

I draw in a tight gasp of pain as Specs applies pressure to my shoulder and it pops back into place.

Mush hands Specs a sheet, and Specs wraps it tightly around my shoulder.

“Just dislocated, but ya should be careful for a little while.” Specs says matter of factly.

“Can-what the hell can he want this time!”

Loud footsteps again, and it seems impossible that Snyder can be back again after an absence of no more than five minutes.

“Line up.” The order comes as soon as the door slams back open, and the boys surrounding me all scramble into place. Specs helps Crutchie stand, and Mush helps me.

“I ain’t got all day!” Snyder shouts, and we’re suddenly standing in a line, not single file, but spread out so we can all see him and he can see all of us.

Snyder paces back and forth in front of us, scowling at every boy he faces.

He eventually comes to a stop directly in front of Albert, whose eyes are alight with both fear and defiance.

“You. Pretty Boy.”

I clench my fists, ready to do whatever it takes to keep my little brother from getting hurt, but Mush’s hand is clenched firmly on my shoulder, he knows what I’m about to do.

He knows how stupid it is, and I know it too, but I can’t let him take Albert.

“Don’t.” Mush whispers under his breath.

I grit my teeth and let Mush hold me back.

For now.

“What?” Albert asks the man facing him, his tone snarky. “Ow, fuck!”

Snyder has a fistful of Albert’s hair, nearly yanking it from his skull.

“Sir.” Snyder says shortly.

Albert’s teeth are clenched in pain, and I can tell he’s trying to avoid meeting eye contact with Snyder.

“There’s no need to call me sir, Spider.” He chokes out, somehow managing to plaster a grin on his face.

Snyder growls in frustration and anger and throws Albert backwards. He lands on the floor on his back.

“Get up and follow me.” Snyder turns on his heel and stalks back to the door as Albert struggles to push himself up off the floor. Race rushes to help him, taking his hand and pulling him up.

“Please, don't go. Lemme-”

“No, Racer.”

“But I-”

Albert opens his mouth to say something else, but apparently thinks better of it and stops himself. He gently tugs his arm away from Race’s grasp, takes off his hat, and puts it on Race’s head. Then he walks across the room to where Snyder is waiting in the doorway.

“Good boy.” Snyder sneers approvingly.

“Fuck you!” Albert shouts, shoving him against the side of the doorway.

And then the door slams shut and the lock clicks back into place, Snyder and Albert on the other side.

The room is silent for a moment, but then it all shatters.

Race runs to the door, banging his fists against the wood and shouting for Albert. Tommy Boy is the one to go up to him and pull him away. “They’se just gonna get mad, Racer.” He says.

“I don’t care!” Race screams, his voice higher than usual. “I can’t let ‘im-” Race’s voice breaks, and he stops fighting Tommy for a second.

“I can’t...” He whispers, falling completely into Tommy’s grasp, his body limp. “Please...”

I can’t handle this.

I can’t handle being back here, having to be a leader and a parent and strong and confident and everything in the world at once.

I’m in so much pain, more than I could’ve ever imagined, I want to scream and cry and end this miserable existence.

“I’m taking a nap.” I say, and Mush helps me hobble over to an empty bunk.

I collapse on the mattress and let much needed sleep overtake me.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: the f slur (i star it out, but still), alcohol abuse, homophobia, violence

As soon as the door slams, I’m grabbed by one of the guards. He pushes me along the hallway behind Snyder, and whenever I slow down too much the guard smacks me on the back of my head. It seems almost like a game to him. We eventually arrive in front of Snyder’s office, and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I’ve been in this room only once, when I was 13 and had to sign the papers, but that was the only time. Jack was just in here, in a closet, and Race told me once about a time he snuck in to steal cigars. Snyder also usually has a boy bring him his supper in his office, but I’ve never been chosen for that unpleasant task. But now I’m sitting in the hard-backed chair, dreading the punishment that is sure to come.

“Do you know why I brought you here?” Snyder asks, leaning back in his desk chair, his hands steepled together like the roof of a church.

“Blah blah respect, blah blah f*g, blah blah blah.” I say, trying to sound bored.

“I brought you here because I’m pissed off and you’re expendable.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means I can kill you and no one would care.”

“So you’re gonna kill me?”

"Get me a drink.”

“What?”

“Get me a drink, Pretty Boy, I’ll only ask once.” Snyder points to a glass cabinet along the side wall, the shelves filled with bottles.

I get up slowly and walk over to the cabinet. I turn the handle and carefully open the glass door, revealing the stockade of bottles.

“Hurry up!” Snyder snaps.

I look at the array of bottles, scanning the labels. They’re all high in alcohol content, and they all look expensive. I grab a shiny green bottle from the shelf and close the cabinet again. I bring it over to Snyder’s desk and place it on the hard wood.

Snyder grabs the bottle, tears off the top, and downs it.

I’ve seen people drink before. My mom used to drink a bottle a night before I left. I’ve seen people drink, but no one drinks like Snyder. He finishes the entire bottle at once and then throws the empty bottle at me.

I don’t duck away fast enough; the glass shatters against my forehead.

Blood and pain, my head feels like it’s on fire. Cold liquid dripping down my face, a mix of alcohol and blood. My vision is blurry, but I manage to lift a hand to my head. The gash stings painfully, and now my hand is bloody too.

I try not to scream, I really do, but Snyder is shouting again and it doesn’t help the pain in my head at all.

The scream burns my throat and blurs my vision. I lean against the nearest wall to steady myself, gasping for air. I feel like I might throw up.

“Get me another drink.” Snyder orders.

“Why?” I ask. I’m surprised I can even form the word at all.

“Because I asked you to, boy.” Snyder says harshly.

“Why me?” My voice is hoarse. “Why waste your time on me if you keep insisting on how useless I am?”

“You’re stupid too, apparently. Higgins seems to think you’re a nice pet, and the only way to get to Sullivan is through his friends. The cr*p is tougher than I thought, but Higgins’ll break easily. Need I make it more plain?”

I want to make a snarky comeback, but I can’t. What can I say?

I know his plan. He’s going to torture me to get to Race to get to Jack. Kind of indirect, if you ask me.

“Kinda indirect, if ya ask me.”

“Another drink, Pretty Boy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t call me that, Spider.”

“I’ll call you what I want, now shut up and get me another drink.”

“No.”

I know this isn’t going to end well. There’s no way it can end well.

“Shut. Your. Mouth.”

“Make me.”

Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing to-

“Fine.” Snyder says tightly, opening a drawer in his desk. He makes a big show of pulling the wad of fabric out of the drawer and waving it in the air.

I back up across the room, I can’t help it.

I’m an idiot, I should’ve just shut up and grabbed another bottle.

My back slams against the door, and Snyder is still advancing on me, grinning. I pull on the handle, but to no avail. It’s locked as always.

“Please.” I choke out.

Snyder only smiles and presses my arms against the wood of the door. I try to push away, but he’s stronger and healthier.

I scream, but then realize my mistake.

Snyder shoves the gag into my open mouth and ties the fabric around the back of my head to secure it.

I scream through the rough fabric, I scream as loud as I can, but the sound is muffled and pathetic.

Snyder leans in close to me and whispers in my ear.

“Another drink.”

He’s already sitting back down behind his desk by the time I come to my senses enough to register his order.

So I do as he says.

I silently walk to the cabinet, select a bottle, and place it on the desk. I duck away when Snyder throws it, leaving it to slam against the far wall instead of against me. After downing his third bottle is when Snyder finally gives me a break.

“Sit.” He directs.

He doesn’t sound nearly as scary when he’s drunk, but I know he’s still dangerous.

“You’re a problem, ya know that?” He says, his words slurring together. “All you newsies are troublemakers. Need ta learn the rules.”

I look anywhere but his eyes. I can’t make eye contact, especially not while he’s talking about his rules.

“Ya need ta learn a lesson, all of ya. But I suppose for taday we can start with you.”

Seemingly endless hits, pain that never wants to end. I grow to hate the wood planking of the floor of Snyder’s office, it only adds more discomfort. The beating is the worst I’ve ever received in my life, I just want an end to the pain.

But an end seems to be the one thing I won’t get, because Snyder’s drunken mind seems to be fueled by my pain, thus creating an endless cycle.

It must be two in the morning when Snyder finally finishes with me. He drags me out of his office and into a relatively small room down the hallway.

The room is empty, except for a horizontal bar placed a few feet from the ground stretching across the back wall of the room.

Snyder takes me to the back wall, and then proceeds to not only cuff my wrists together, but secure them so my arms are looped around the bar.

After securing me, he just stares at me for a moment.

“Do you want me to ungag you?” He asks suddenly. His voice is nice, it’s strangely off putting. Should I trust him? No. Do I have a choice? Probably not.

I hesitate for a moment before nodding.

“Good. All you have ta do is say a few words. You can do that, can’t you?”

I nod again, only because I hate being silenced.

“Good.” Snyder loosens the gag, and it falls around my neck. “Now there’s five rules you gotta say. Can you repeat after me?”

I nod.

Snyder’s smile grows.

“Speak only when spoken to.”

“Fuck you.”

The gag is back in my mouth and my head wound feels like it’s on fire.

Oh, that’s because of Snyder’s knuckles, three of which don sharp rings, have made contact with the gash and are trying to split my head open.

“Shall we try again?” Snyder asks, examining his bloody fist.

He uses his left hand, the not bloody one, to loosen my gag yet again.

“Speak only when spoken to.”

“Go to hell.”

My screams fill the room as Snyder’s fist strikes my head wound again, I start to wonder if this is going to be a pattern.

“Speak only when spoken to.”

“I heard ya the first time.”

“I can do this all night, don’t test me.” Snyder growls, and I can feel the glass shards cutting even deeper into my flesh.

“Please…” I gasp, the pain overwhelming me.

“All of this can end if you simply recite the rules for me. Easy as that.”

Snyder’s hand retreats, and the pain subsides slightly.

I can’t give in, I can’t.

Giving in is giving up, and I can’t give up.

I can’t be obedient and well-mannered.

I’m Albert DaSilva, I’m loud and rude and I definitely don’t follow the rules.

I’m not useless, I’m not someone’s object, I’m not going to give up everything I believe in just because some asshole wants to torture me and my friends.

In the Refuge it’s easy to lose yourself, on the streets it’s easy to lose yourself, and I really can’t afford to lose myself.

I can’t.

I won’t.

“I ain’t playin’ your game.” I choke out.

“We’ll see what you have to say about that in the morning.” Snyder grunts, and the gag is once again shoved into my mouth and fastened in tightly. “Sleep tight.” Snyder says sarcastically, and then he’s gone.

I’m left alone in a locked room, gagged, arms held above me by tight metal handcuffs.

Alone.

It’s a strange word, alone.

Jack always said he could be alone but not lonely.

Sometimes I feel lonely when I’m not alone.

Well right now I’m alone, and I don’t know how to feel.

A lot of times my own thoughts can be too much to handle.

And my thoughts are what keep me from sleeping.

I spend the whole night staring at the door opposite me, letting all of my thoughts and worries and ideas swarm my brain.

I guess I fell asleep eventually though, because it’s the slam of the opening door that wakes me up, and I instinctively try to move my arms before remembering the events of the previous night.

“Lookie here, Morris, he’s awake!” A voice croons.

I blink my eyes a few times to clear my sleep blurred vision, and see none other than the Delancey brothers. Great.

“How’d ya sleep?” Morris asks tauntingly.

I’m gagged, can’t he see that?

“Looks like Red’s finally gonna get what he deserves.” Oscar says, stepping closer. He looks me over for a second, and for a second I think I can see a hint of hesitation in his eyes.

“Let ‘im breathe, Mo. I wanna be able ta hear ‘im scream.” Oscar says next, almost casually.

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Oscar Delancey?

He’s a manipulative piece of shit, he’s always been.

When we first met, I was 9 and Oscar was 10. Morris was 9 too, but I never knew him as well as I knew Oscar.

Oscar always called himself the brains, he would do most of the talking. Morris was shy, and he still is. He doesn’t talk much, he uses his fists instead of his mouth. I know why, it was because of the shit hand that life dealt him, but I always can’t help but wonder.

What would’ve happened if the three of us had stayed friends?

What would’ve happened if I hadn’t become a newsie, hadn’t met Race?

Or what if they had said yes? What if they had become newsies with me, learned that they didn’t deserve all of the shit their uncle gave them?

But that’s not what happened.

I became a newsie.

I met Race.

Oscar and Morris took the jobs their uncle offered.

I grew closer together with Oscar, and then we grew apart.

I tried to reach out to Morris, and he found out my secret.

I lost my friends and I lost myself.

I got kicked out of my house and taken straight to the Refuge.

Things were never the same.

Things will never be the same.

Morris throws my gag on the floor with disgust, and I take a breath.

“Why’re ya doin’ this?” I ask.

“It pays.” Oscar says simply.

“It pays.” I roll my eyes. “Always about the goddamn money.”

“Enough talking, Red. Morris, I think he’s a bit too comfortable.”

A boot smashes into my ribs, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep myself from crying out.

I don’t want to have to deal with this again.

I spent all of last night trying to deal with hits and kicks and insults, and now I have to wake up and deal with it all over again?

I tune out the brothers as they take turns punching me and throwing insults in my face.

Maybe if I pretend to be unconscious they’ll leave me alone?

Crutchie said it worked for him, why shouldn’t it work for me?

I let my body go limp and let my eyes fall shut. I try not to flinch as Morris’s brass knuckles graze the open wound on my head.

“He’s unconscious, Os.” I hear Morris say in his low tone. “The boss won’t know if we lay off him. I don’t wanna hit ‘im when he’s out.”

“Yeah, we’ll jus’ sit an’ play cards or somethin’ ‘til he wakes up again.” Oscar agrees.

I hear footsteps moving away, and I’m assuming the brothers have moved to a spot on the opposite side of the room.

So now I get to sit with my thoughts for a while. Yay.

“I don’t like that we’se doin’ this.” I hear Morris say. “It’s jus’ beatin’ on folks that’re already hurt. Folks who deserve it, but c’mon, Os. Look at ‘im. I hate his guts, but he ain’t even fightin’ back or nothin’.”

That’s probably the most I’ve ever heard Morris talk.

He’s never liked me, he never has, so he never talked to me as much as Oscar did when we were friends.

“I know, but it pays an’ we could use the money. ‘Sides, this is what he deserves, right? For what he did.” Oscar comments.

So Oscar is still living that lie.

What  _ I _ did.

It wasn’t me.

It was Oscar’s fault.

The events play back in my head, clouding my worry filled mind.

 

_ “Red, I gotta tell ya a secret.” Oscar whispers. _

_ “Ya can tell me anythin’, Os. We’se best friends.” I whisper back. “I won’t tell no one, I promise.” _

_ “Okay.” _

_ A breeze passes over us, and I look over side of the roof while Oscar composed himself. I can see people bustling around the sidewalk, and carriages trotting by below. _

_ “I’se a f*g.” Oscar says quickly. “Ya can’t tell Morris, ya can’t tell my uncle, an’ ya can’t tell Higgins.” _

_ “I ain’t gonna tell!” I insist. “But… why’d ya tell me?” _

_ “Because I didn’t know who else ta tell. Ya can’t hate me, please. I know I’se wrong, an’ I didn’t wanna be this way, but it jus’ happened. I feel gross, but I still wanna be best friends. It don’t matter that you’se normal an’ I’se not, right? I mean, I get if ya hate me-” _

_ “I don’t hate ya, Os.” _

_ “Really, Red?” _

_ “Of course not.” _

_ Should I tell him? _

_ No, I shouldn’t. _

_ I’ll tell him later, right now it’s his time. _

 

If I had told him then things would’ve turned out very different.

Or would they have?

Wouldn’t the same thing have happened, just sooner?

I didn’t feel the same as he did about me, I only understood how he felt.

I know that doesn’t make sense, but it does.

Although it didn’t matter whether or not I told him then because it happened a few weeks after, we were in an alley, smoking and talking.

 

_ “Os, what’re you-” _

_ I’m cut off by his lips on mine, and I’m too shocked to pull away. _

_ What is he doing? _

_ “DaSilva!” _

_ I wrench myself away from Oscar, but the damage has been done. _

_ There’s Morris, standing at the front of the alley, eyes alight with anger. _

_ “What the hell, Red! You’se a f*g!” Oscar shouts, and I want to protest, but Morris is charging towards me, his fists clenched, and I’m suddenly on the floor. _

_ What happened? _

_ Oscar tried to kiss me, it’s a misunderstanding! _

_ But I can’t very well say that when my mouth is full of blood. _

 

My mom found out about it the next day. I got kicked out.

The day after that Race got taken to the Refuge.

And then I got sent there too.

And Snyder seemed to know, how did he know?

Race got out before me, Jack broke him out before Snyder hurt him really bad.

But it took longer for Jack to get me out.

I was there for weeks, subject to beatings and slurs and the curse of loneliness.

Things were never the same.

I knew what society saw me as, still sees me as.

I learned my place.

I know my place but I refuse to stay in it.

I refuse to give in.

The strike is about standing up and fighting, and that is exactly what I intend to do.

“You’re fuckin’ assholes, both of ya.” I shout across the room.

“Oh, so you is awake!” Oscar exclaims gleefully.

“Os-”

“Mo, he’s gettin’ what he deserves.”

“He ain’t even fightin’ or nothin’! He’s jus’ sittin’ there.” Morris says, crossing his arms.

Now this is a situation I never thought I’d see. Morris Delancey avoiding a fight? This is a perfect opportunity for me to open my big mouth again and fuck things up!

“Aw, is little Morris afraid of a scary f*g like me?” I ask tauntingly. “The only reason I ain’t fightin’ back is ‘cause ya got me all chained up like this! If ya wanna play, boys, jus’ lemme go!”

Somehow I’m smiling, laughing, even.

Have I gone insane?

Probably.

“You deserve this, Red.” Oscar sneers, strolling towards me.

“Do I now?” I say. “Because-”

I’m cut off my Oscar’s brass knuckles slamming into my jaw.

And then my shoulder.

My stomach.

Jaw again.

Stomach.

Stomach.

Shoulder.

Stomach.

Head wound.

“Stop!” The plea comes out of my mouth purely from instinct, muscle memory, but I can’t take the scream back now.

“You want me to stop, Red?” Oscar’s face is too close to mine, and his thick fingers are wrapped around my wrist.

I don’t say anything.

“I said do you want me to stop?” Oscar asks again, twisting my wrist. My nerves are howling and I can feel my bone bending.

“Yes.” I choke out.

“Beg me.” Oscar spits.

“Please, stop.”

“Sir.”

“Sir, please stop.”

“No.”

Oscar yanks his hand away, still holding my wrist, and I can hear the crack as the bone splinters and breaks.

I’m screaming, my whole body is on fire, and it seems like the pain will never end.

Once more blows rain down and I am powerless to stop them. More skin will fade to purple in the upcoming hours. I'm sure my screams can be heard by the boys but I can't stop. As soon as I can take a breath another blow has whisked it away. 

I vaguely remember begging once more, not caring at how fucking pitiful I must sound. 

Me, cowering in fear, begging for mercy, being struck by the ones I had called friends many years ago. 

I’m a disappointment.

I’m trying to be strong, but I can’t be.

But I have to be!

Jack is counting on me, the newsies are counting on me.

I close my eyes and let myself sleep.

 

*********

 

A sharp blow to my jaw brings me back to reality.

“Wake up.”

I blearily open my eyes and see Snyder leering in my face.

“Gettin’ right ta the point, I see.” I say, practically coughing out the words. “Miss me more than Jack?”

“I just saw him actually.

“Our money, sir?” Oscar asks pointedly, holding out an open palm.

Snyder hands Oscar a wad of cash, and the two brothers leave the room, shutting the door firmly behind them.

“What did Race say?” I blurt out suddenly, not able to stop myself.

“Oh, so the dog misses his owner?” Snyder taunts.

“I-”

“He was on his hands and knees begging for me to let you go.”

“Yeah, right.”

I can’t believe that Race would do that.

“In fact, he offered to put himself in your place.” Snyder chuckles.

That I can believe Race did.

“But I think I’m too close to cracking you to let you go so soon.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“I think I might need to shut you up by force again.”

“Try me.”

“Fine.”

When am I going to learn when to stop?

Never, apparently.

And now Snyder is holding up a rope and he’s tying it around my neck and he’s pulling it tight and I can’t breathe and my brain is working a mile a minute and why do I taste blood and I can’t take this anymore I don’t want more pain I don’t want to be locked in this room I don’t want to be silenced I’m not strong like Jack I can’t handle a beating a day I can’t handle losing this much blood I think my brain is about to explode.

“All of this can end.” Snyder says simply, and even though I’m not looking at him I know he’s smirking.

He’s won.

I can feel tears start to stream down my face, and I manage to choke out a sob.

I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to give up so quickly, but I have no other choice. I can’t take any more of this.

I’m not strong.

I’m 16, barely 16, I only turned 16 last month, and 16 is too young.

Too young for jail, too young for blood, too young for beatings, too young for torture, too young for all of this goddamn pain.

But Jack was here when he was 16, wasn’t he?

He was 16 the last time he was here, if he can survive I can.

“Fuck. You.”

Because I’m a stubborn piece of shit.

Because I don’t know when to shut up.

Because I don’t care if he kills me.

Because-

His fist is pounding into my skull and my vision disappears.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: @felix-loves-albert-and-ralbert
> 
> i love hearing feedback from y'all! let me know what you think and if you've got any suggestions!


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